


Seamus Finnigan and the Best Kept Secret in the Whole Wide Wizarding World

by RurouniHime



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Horny Teenagers, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Rumors, Safe Sane and Consensual, Secrets, Underage Sex, posturing, secret virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 07:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11938887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: Seamus Finnigan isn't sure what to deal with first: the reputation or the lack of anything to back it up.





	Seamus Finnigan and the Best Kept Secret in the Whole Wide Wizarding World

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic! Never made it up on AO3, but it is one of my personal favorites. Oh, poor Seamus, the dear sweet muffinhead.
> 
> Originally posted back when everyone had realized Blaise Zabini was male but still thought he was Italian, so it has been edited to fix that. DOES NOT follow canon, like, at all after Book 5-ish.

Seamus Finnigan had a problem. And no, the problem wasn’t that he still got chronic thigh aches from that wall-shagging with Terry Boot a year ago which caused him to collapse at the bottom of the stairwell and miss Transfigurations, even though Lisa Turpin knew it for _an absolute fact, I absolutely swear!_

The problem wasn’t that the loner Hufflepuff fifth year whose name nobody ever remembered had a heart-bursting, all-consuming crush on Seamus ever since he’d given him the best first blow job of his wee life under the Quidditch stands last October while the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game roared overhead, though Ernie MacMillan promised to give up everything from Exploding Snap to Advanced Arithmancy if he were found to be lying about it.

The problem wasn’t even the four boys from Sussex, Shrewsbury, the Isle of Wight, and, yes, the Durmstrang Wizarding School itself, who kept up steady correspondence with Seamus detailing exactly how they wanted to pay him back for the You-Know-What behind the You-Know-Where, after the You-Know-When, though the younger Parkinson swore up and down that she had a letter from one of each of the boys and she was prepared to show them to anyone who cared to see, provided they had enough Galleons to fund her Butterbeer habit for the remainder of the year.

Seamus’ problem was that none of that was true, and he was still a blushing, if very freckly, virgin.

Sort of.

Oh, the virginity was not open to debate. Seamus’ arse was as virginal as virgin arse could get. It was so virginal that sometimes it squeaked at night in an Irish accent about how much it was _pulling for a shag right about now, ye ken?_

Well, no, it didn’t really do that. But Seamus thought the image was awfully funny. But it wasn’t like he could tell that joke, given present circumstances. And the present circumstances were thus: Seamus Finnigan’s problem was that he was a closet-wanking virgin… but no one else believed it.

“At least I’m not still _in_ the closet,” Seamus reminded himself every morning. It was his mantra, the one that drowned out the squeaky Irish arse-voice.

He wasn’t even sure exactly how the rumor had started. He certainly didn’t remember posting a notice about his promiscuous escapades, though if he had, it must have been sometime around Boxing Day, fifth year. Not having been at Hogwarts over holidays seemed to make no never mind to anyone. He’d certainly spent that holiday well, or so he was told by Colin Creevey when he returned. _Can I get a picture with you, Seamus?_ and _Why’d you do it up in the Owlery, Seamus?_ and _Did that Ravenclaw boy ever get his pants out of the Whomping Willow, Seamus?_

It wasn’t until the beginning of sixth year when Dean Thomas actually started taking the rumors seriously that Seamus got a little worried. And excited. Maybe a little more excited than worried. Because, honestly, Terry Boot-of-the-latest-rumor was as sexy as they come, all clean-shaven and lean-muscled, and quite willing to let everyone take his dashing smirk to mean that yes, he was definitely walking funny due to Seamus Finnigan’s ministrations. He and Terry had a good laugh about it over a pint or two of Firewhisky, and then of course there came the bit of truth to those rumors. Seamus found out two very important things that night. One, that Terry Boot could hold his liquor better than Seamus, and two, that being pissed made getting a blowjob mighty fine indeed. 

So Seamus did know how to do that, thanks to Terry, who left and took Seamus’ inexperienced secret with him that summer. Nice bloke, that one. But Seamus had little time to be happy about that, because he was so bloody worried about what was developing in his own dorm room. Dean had been convinced for some time now, and Neville pretty much nodded when it suited him. But when Ron clapped him on the back and taught him a few silencing spells _just in case you want to bring ‘em back here while I’m trying to sleep, mate,_ Seamus began to see how deep the ocean of lies could get. He went to the only roommate left, the one he could trust to be fairly levelheaded about his little secret.

“Harry, I was hoping I could ask your advice on something.”

“Sure.”

Seamus fidgeted. “I need your help on how to deal with this.”

Harry blinked. “What’s wrong?”

Seamus fidgeted. “Harry, the truth is… I’m a virgin.”

Harry blinked. “Say again?”

“I don’t know a thing about sex.”

At least Harry hadn’t sat there blinking. He hadn’t sat there much at all. Actually, he’d rolled off the Great Hall bench and ended up with a lap full of shepherd’s pie and a coughing fit from snorting pumpkin juice up his nose.

“That’s a good one, Seam,” he wheezed in a delighted tone, clapping Seamus on the back once he’d gotten to his feet. “Have I told you I love your sense of humor?”

It was at that moment that Seamus officially knew the rumors had gotten out of hand.

So he did what he thought any teenage boy with a good reputation for a hot time in the sack would do. And that meant grinning sexily at any round-eyed girl whispering with her friend. It meant cracking more jokes than he knew he had in him and drenching them in oodles of innuendo while he was at it. It meant setting up a summer home for his mind in the gutter. And it meant research, which actually wasn’t too difficult considering the number of books in the library. Seamus learned an awful lot of really nice things, and also a lot of rather intimidating things that winter, but it never took him more than three weeks to come to terms with how deliciously good those particular activities would probably feel.

And meanwhile, his doppelganger was apparently shagging the entire school, so that was good: all the publicity and none of the late nights to get it.

There were times when Seamus was a little upset with his doppelganger. Because it wasn’t as if he actually _was_ shagging every boy in school. It was just that Seamus liked boys and there were so many of them at Hogwarts. And it was so much easier being outed by a wide-eyed Gryffindor photographer than it would have been trying to explain to everyone that yes, he was gay, and no, he didn’t think Parvati Patil was incredibly hot, even if he did like her leather jacket from Spain. He could appreciate pretty girls. Hermione Granger was quite lovely nowadays, and Daphne Greengrass could stop five fifth year boys, two seventh years, and three sixth year girls in the hall on one pass _without even looking at them_ —Seamus envied that—but he really had no desire to find out what Pansy Parkinson’s breasts might feel like, as Neville shyly admitted to wondering about, or to giving Hermione a very satisfying night indeed, as he accidentally heard Ron doing one night. 

But Seamus did like boys. He was with a different one every week because, by Merlin and all that was sexually holy, Zacharias Smith was _hot_ just after his run by the forest, and Justin Finch Fletchley knew all sorts of things about kissing, and Michael Corner was just not as into Ginny Weasley as everyone had thought. But Seamus had never done anything beyond kissing, except with Terry, who must have said something to his fellow Ravenclaws that was just the opposite of the pathetic truth of the matter. And that did irk Seamus a little bit, but honestly, he wasn’t doing anything wrong by having a different boyfriend every week, was he? It wasn’t as if he led any of them on. They all expected him to be a quickie in every way. _It’s part of your charm, Finnigan, and I’m glad I get a chance to experience it before I bugger off to the real world,_ Montague had actually said to him one afternoon behind Hagrid’s hut. Seamus expected the rumors to die out after he didn’t actually shag Montague, but apparently there was one Hogwarts seventh year who _could_ kiss and not tell.

By the time the end of sixth year rolled around, Seamus had learned to stop terming his weekly snogs as boyfriends, and to keep up with all the lewd jokes he could. It was a rather nice existence, really. 

Until Blaise Zabini slithered himself into Seamus’ line of sight, that is.

He should have learned to be wary of Slytherins. They were just as crafty in sixth and seventh years as they were in first year; only now they had a little more knowledge and a lot more experience bending the little intricacies of life to suit their needs. Seamus had been keeping an eye on Draco Malfoy, because honestly, even if he was the Dark Lord’s number one runner up one year and a fairly normal teenage boy the next, he was obviously the top Slytherin on the food chain. He _should_ be watched, if only for Harry Potter’s sake. But somehow Seamus had missed the curly-haired smirking Slytherin who hung out with Malfoy, and somehow, that curly-haired smirking Slytherin had managed to become his _boyfriend_. No joke. 

Seamus could only blame it on being blinded by platinum blond hair all the time.

And now, fall of seventh year, Seamus was in a bit of a… _situation_. Maybe Finnigan-the-Fling-Meister could get away with not sleeping with every boy he snogged. He was a bleeding sex god after all; he ought to be able to decide which boys just weren’t good enough to be spending his precious time and energy on.

But Seamus was pretty sure that Finnigan-the-Fling-Meister-Turned-Commitment-Connoisseur would not waste any time failing to shag the Hail Marys out of his _boyfriend_ , especially if that boyfriend was such a catch as Blaise Zabini. Certainly they would have done the deed by their one-month anniversary at least.

Which was, specifically speaking, next week. 

Blaise was awfully good at getting what he wanted, if Seamus was any judge, and he felt he was actually rather qualified when it came to his very Slytherin boyfriend. After all, Blaise Zabini was supposed to be a hard catch, and Seamus had accomplished it without doing anything that he himself was aware of. But lately Blaise had taken to demanding information on exactly what it was Seamus did to get every boy from Hufflepuff to Hogsmeade so riled up, and then so tight-lipped. Today he fell into step beside Seamus in the hallway, grazed his fingers over the line of Seamus’ belt, and tried an old direct tactic, one that usually worked… or would have, if there were anything to tell.

“Come on, Seamus, tell me _something_ about how you work your magic.”

Seamus just smiled coyly and said, “Not likely. How am I supposed to surprise you properly if you know everything?”

An intrigued smile slid across Blaise’s face, an expression that was alternately used for admiration and getting someone else all hot and bothered. The dark-haired boy shook his head, grinning to himself. But Seamus was already twisting inside over how true his words really were. Each time he saw Blaise, it made him lightheaded, but it also made him more and more terrified of his knotted yarn of half-truths. He began to dread the day when he would inevitably have to tell his boyfriend his true plight, the day Blaise Zabini of the swooning fourth-year-girls found out it was all a lie.

Until one glorious morning when it occurred to Seamus that _maybe he didn’t have to_.

“It’s our one-month anniversary, Finnigan.” Blaise was gazing ahead down the road with a confident half-smirk as they walked to Hogsmeade. “Not sure if you noticed.”

Seamus grinned. “Of course I noticed.”

The look Blaise turned on him was warm and a little relieved. Seamus felt something curl softly inside him and sighed contentedly.

“I actually have things planned,” he ventured. Blaise glanced at him, an eyebrow quirked. “Fun things,” Seamus added hastily.

Blaise leaned in and put his lips just behind Seamus’ ear. Seamus jumped at the soft nibble of teeth at his throat. “Oh, I do as well, Finnigan. You can bet on that.”

Seamus’ body went just a little rigid at the rough drawl of Blaise’s voice. He was glad it was chilly because shivering wasn’t something Finnigan-the-Worldly-Sex-God did, he was sure. And he was fully prepared to tell Blaise he had mid-winter-asthma if the other boy questioned the hitch in his breathing. In fact, the malady was most likely hereditary, he decided on the spot. Generations of Finnigans. Yes. Blaise’s eyes were dark and full of the warmth Seamus had never seen in anyone else’s gaze when they looked his way, and that was when it occurred to Seamus that, honestly, what _was_ the big deal about virginity anyway?

No one knew unless the virgin in question actually said something.

Blaise would never have to know he had taken Seamus’ virginity. It wasn’t so interesting, really. Blaise Zabini already thought as the rest of the school did, that Seamus had as much experience between the sheets as he had making people fall out of their chairs laughing, and that was considerable. That he was a lively, fun, and rather flighty (if the rumors were true) romp in bed. Seamus wished sometimes that he could be more like his doppelganger instead of just constantly acting the part: cocky to an absolute fault, ready for a shag in a bed or broom-closet, but always self-controlled enough to leave it without untoward attachments afterward. Cracking jokes just as he brought his partner off, and ready with a friendly peck on the cheek come morning.

But he wasn’t like that other Seamus. He didn’t want to sleep around with lots of boys. There was only one boy he wanted to sleep with, and that boy happened to live in Slytherin and believe that Seamus was keeping the secret to perfect sex in a little notebook somewhere. An experience to be had and treasured forever. 

The first time Seamus had seen said Slytherin and actually thought of being shagged by him had been a shocking moment in the Gryffindor Quidditch changing rooms back at the end of sixth year. Exams were over ( _Adequate Invisibility Potion, Mr. Finnigan, now get out of my sight_ ), it was scorching hot, and Hermione had a squid distraction charm that involved a friendly mermaid and a bucket of flobberworms. The lake was deliciously cold, and even Malfoy had opted to join them. That is, after he finished cursing Harry to the four winds for shoving him off the dock and into the water.

The Patil twins were quite good at water fights, and Neville charmed a few lumps of Gillyweed up from the depths for a little extra fun. Between that and Ernie MacMillan’s boasting about how he’d trained a Grindylow to fetch his snorkel the summer before, the day was nicely relaxing. And could Seamus help it if Draco and Harry were quietly snogging shoulder-deep in the water under the Whispering Willows for the final half-hour? Having had a crush on both of them at various times over the last three years, Seamus could hardly be blamed for wistfully imagining himself between them while changing in the locker rooms a bit later… and turning around to find Blaise Zabini stripping out of his swimming trunks in all his bronzed, dark, naked glory.

Good Lord, but that boy was sexy. All dripping water in rivulets. No more blonds for Seamus. And green eyes just didn’t do it for him anymore. For the first time, the pang of lust in Seamus’ groin was overridden almost completely by the slice of fear in his gut because, horror of horrors, suddenly Seamus could see the end of his secret virginity in sight. And then—right _then_ —Blaise looked up and met Seamus’ gaze. The Slytherin’s face flushed and his eyes brightened with such surprised warmth and shy come-hitherness, that Seamus got a lot more frightened. The last barrier— _oh, Zabini can’t be gay, I couldn’t possibly be that lucky_ —cracked, and good _Lord_ , his virtue might actually be under threat now.

Seamus spent the next day avoiding him. And then summer, and ye gods, not a sexy dark skinned Slytherin boy in sight to remind his stomach to do nervous flip-flops. So it was a little hard on his stomach to walk into Hogwarts next fall, walk into the Great Hall, and then walk into a column when Zabini looked up and grinned at him from the Slytherin table.

Slytherins worked fast. It was not a week before Zabini cornered him in the Potions hallway and snogged him senseless. Fairly similar to the first Quidditch match of the season actually, which neither of them saw much of as it was somewhat difficult to see from under the stands, especially when one was being kissed within an inch of one’s life.

“You want to go out sometime?” Zabini murmured and Seamus’ head nodded for him, and subsequently the rumor started going around that both of Slytherin’s resident playboys had settled into relationships, and by Merlin, the second had taken Hogwart’s easiest Gryffindor with him.

Yes, Seamus Finnigan wanted to sleep with Blaise Zabini. He was as certain of it as the Centaurs were about their precious stars. But it absolutely terrified him. And now he had a boyfriend, and a one-month anniversary, and a Muggle condom in his back pocket, and how did that get there, and a bruise just under his last right rib from Ginny’s finger where she’d poked him and said _You’ve got an anniversary today, don’t you?_ Seamus didn’t think it was good for Ginny to look so damn dirty when she was leering, and Mother of all Hippogriffs, were they bloody well keeping a calendar somewhere?

November 4th: Seamus-the-Sexpot-Finnigan and Blaise-Don’t-You-Wish-You-Were-Shagging-Me?-Zabini snog under Quid. stands. November 15th: StSF and BDYWYWSMZ most likely to fourth base right now. November 30th: S and B going around the bases a third time. December 4th: S and B’s one-month anniversary, watch out for rocking castle.

December 5th: Hogwarts finds out that S is a Big Fat Liar.

And there was no way in hell Seamus was going to let that appear on their calendar. 

So here he was, walking to Hogsmeade with the boy of his dreams’ arm slung around his waist, planning for a nice pub lunch, a nice magical present, and a nice roll in a bed later on. Which he had no business planning. 

But those were just details.

The Three Broomsticks was busy and hot inside, but Madame Rosmerta had the best fish and chips this side of the Scottish border. And there weren’t many pubs even in the wizarding world that served halibut that got up and serenaded the customer before begging to be eaten. 

“That’s a little creepy,” Blaise said, poking at Seamus’ now limp fish. “Do your chips do a tango too?”

Seamus picked one up but it seemed to be a mere potato. “Probably has cold feet after that performance.”

Blaise grinned and treated him to an illicit shot of Firewhisky. Which brought Terry Boot to mind. Which made Seamus giggle. Which made Blaise ask questions. Which somehow worked their way around to a story about a Muggle hippopotamus and a naïve little zoo-going wizard with his older sister’s wand. They were both still highly entertained two hours later, right up until Dean burst into the pub and dragged them from their table for a game of Charmed Football out in front of the Shrieking Shack. Seamus had played it before. It involved a Muggle football, spelled to belt you in the head every time you tried to kick it in any suitable direction. Hands were allowed, and that was how Seamus found himself wrestling with a wiggly black and white ball that seemed to like Pansy Parkinson’s chest entirely too much, and barreling straight into the only Slytherin obnoxious enough to jump right in front of him as he neared the goal.

Blaise fell over backward in the snow, laughing, and Seamus tumbled readily on top of him, the struggling ball clutched tightly under one arm. Looking down at Blaise’s face—his cheeks were flushed, eyes brighter than stars—Seamus felt himself smile. He darted his head down and landed a sloppy kiss on Blaise’s grinning mouth. The Slytherin’s arms latched around him in an instant.

There was a shout of laughter and the sound of running feet. “Get a room!” Nott yelled.

Seamus disentangled himself long enough to grin lewdly and say, “Oh, we will.” Because, well, it was expected anyway. He heard Harry chuckle.

Blaise’s voice sounded for his ear alone. “Yeah. It’ll be Nott’s room.” And Seamus was shocked enough to just stare at his leering boyfriend for a long, queasy instant. 

Then he felt a hard nudge into his side and looked up to find Hannah Abbott leaning over them, shoving the ball into his ribs with one snow-covered boot.

“You think you two can wait on that room until after my team has completely slaughtered yours, Finnigan?” she said, smirking. 

What a ridiculous notion. Seamus climbed up off of Blaise and the slaughtering commenced. And five goals, seven muddy students, and a stalemate later, the room had been forgotten by Seamus at least.

It was late when Blaise finally steered Seamus away from the ice cream parlor and the Quidditch shop, and the nice quiet corner behind Honeydukes that offered up perfect privacy for all their snogging needs, and headed them back toward the castle. Blaise’s new fog-gray scarf looked rather nice with his dark hair and clear skin. Seamus was glad he’d thought to pick that color. It made Blaise’s eyes look like shifting beach sand, and that was something Seamus could definitely say he loved. Under the twilight, wrapped in a wool coat and warm boyfriend-arms, he could think of no better way to spend a one-month anniversary. The rest of the group had buggered off a while back, leaving Hogwarts’ most unexpected couple to go do what everyone was betting their life savings that they’d do, and for once, Seamus wasn’t all that concerned. Blaise said the most intriguing things when they were alone, which wasn’t often given the fanaticism of Hogwarts gossipers, and Seamus found it easy to make the Slytherin smile in just that way that he liked.

He’d seen the smile only once or twice before. The most memorable was two weeks into their relationship—seemed so long ago—when they were all in the Great Hall eating, and Neville had finally managed to corner Pansy Parkinson and intrigue her for long enough to make her dark eyes light up with something other than tricksy superiority. Harry and Draco looked as if they wanted nothing more than to meld themselves into one scar-headed, snipe-tongued wizard, and Daphne Greengrass was having a field day.

“So how exactly do you quantify your extracurricular studies, Draco? I simply can’t imagine the look on Pince’s face if she saw the list of books Granger is transfiguring and sneaking out of the library for you.”

Ron raised his head from his cozy little conversation with the sneak in question and glared at Daphne. “Hey, don’t think we’re not being well paid for our silence, Greengrass.”

Daphne grinned maliciously. “Oh, I’ll get it out of you, you can bank on it. You’ll slip up one of these days. Or Potter will. Nothing that kinky can go unboasted of for too long.”

It was true. In fact, for a while Seamus had been mightily worried about the state of Harry’s sexuality, considering the stories going around about Finnigan-the-King-of-All-That-Has-Anything-to-Do-With-Gay-Sex. But he was glad Malfoy was good at keeping Harry on his toes at night; Seamus had all he could handle avoiding Neville’s timid requests for information on the mechanics of sex. He’d barely managed to get himself out of answering the previous night with _Merlin, Nev, I’m gay! Wouldn’t know a thing about what girls like, would I?_ If Harry ever walked up and wanted the lowdown, Seamus would be in a lot of hot water.

But that wasn’t going to happen. 

Seamus snickered. “Just because you can’t find the books you need for your steamy love-dungeon doesn’t mean Harry and Malfoy have them, Greengrass.”

Daphne turned entirely too jackal-ish eyes his way. “Oh, and I suppose you have the missing books then?”

Seamus almost blushed. Almost. But Daphne Greengrass was someone his doppelganger seemed to like an awful lot. “Why check out something I’m already so well-versed in?” 

Dean crowed and Daphne went positively Cheshire. But the look Blaise turned on him was so deliciously open and adoring that Seamus felt like flying. As he watched, Blaise leaned in. His hand found Seamus’ just under the table and he whispered in a gentle voice only Seamus could hear. 

“You’ve no idea how glad I was to find out you were gay, Finnigan.”

It wasn’t until Seamus was getting ready for bed in his own room again that he realized that meant Blaise must have been glad since _fifth year_.

* * *

Upon entering the castle after the darkening road from Hogsmeade, Seamus headed for the Great Hall, but Blaise caught him and directed him to a dark corridor that, frankly, Seamus couldn’t imagine coming home to every night of one’s school year. And he’d been trying to work up the nerve to mount the stairs to Gryffindor anyway, so it was a nice relief that maybe Blaise didn’t want to do that just yet.

Until he realized how empty the Slytherin common room was.

And how clean and roommate-less Blaise’s dorm room was.

And how terrifying the bed looked with the covers all turned back like that.

“Your house is certainly… empty tonight,” Seamus said, swallowing.

Blaise flicked his wand at the candles ensconced on the walls. Forest green wax. He turned a smile on Seamus. “Helps to be friends with Draco.”

Seamus looked around. “I suppose he threatened them all with something horrid.”

“A Dementor in every closet, I believe were his exact words.” Blaise chuckled and Seamus laughed right along because honestly, it was funny, and honestly, he wouldn’t put it past Malfoy. And honestly, he was checking Harry’s closet as soon as he was back in Gryffindor Tower.

Blaise draped his new scarf over his wardrobe door, letting his fingers trail over the material. The room was comfortably warm, the fire crackled merrily, and Seamus was assaulted by two conflicting ideas: that he was nice and safe by the door, and that he was much too far away from the Slytherin. Blaise turned toward him, the top two buttons of his shirt loose, baring his throat, and smiled. 

“Happy one-month anniversary.”

Seamus’ feet decided that was just as good as _Come over here_ and then he was in Blaise’s arms, being amazed all over again by the other boy’s skill at kissing. Blaise’s hands began roving all over his back and up over his face, and the through-his-hair part was so delightful that Seamus figured one dorm was as good as another for what they were going to do. And there had been fewer stairs to reach this one.

“I hope you’re this enthusiastic about other things,” Blaise murmured against his mouth, and Seamus nodded and utilized his tongue to great effect before the words could make his stomach flip. It was becoming more and more clear to Seamus that if Blaise knew he wasn’t nearly so involved in the world of midnight ecstasy, he wouldn’t want to be doing this with Seamus. Ergo, Blaise wouldn’t want to _be_ with Seamus. So there was obviously no way Blaise was going to find out. 

And if there was one thing Seamus had learned during all this “shagging everything that moved” business, it was how to kiss like you knew what was coming after.

The green velour chair was awfully nice to sink into for half an hour. Blaise’s legs were strong and warm under his, and Seamus hoped Malfoy knew at least half the ways Blaise knew to stroke the skin of one’s neck using only fingertips, otherwise Harry was in for a boring relationship. Blaise divested him of his shirt with quite a bit of skill, considering that afterward Seamus didn’t really know the exact moment the shirt had left his body. But they’d done that before, at least, so it wasn’t shocking in the slightest to see his light freckled skin next to Blaise’s dark skin. And muscles. 

Leaving the chair, still wrapped around each other and tongue-deep in each other’s mouths, was a little tricky, but Seamus managed. In fact, he was rather proud of himself for not only navigating the room backwards, but for simultaneously unbuttoning and removing Blaise’s shirt as well. Blaise toppled them both onto the bed, never leaving off with the kissing, and my, his mattress was soft, and was that a down blanket? Seamus fell down into it with a groan.

Blaise pulled back, barely touching Seamus’ lips with his, and said, “Salazar, you kiss well.”

“As do you,” Seamus answered amicably. Blaise raised one hand and caressed Seamus’ face from temple to chin, then followed it with soft, sweet pecks. Seamus’ body reacted accordingly. Except for the niggling tremor in his right hand. And the thought that he would dash all of Blaise’s hopes for the shag he’d been waiting for for over a year if he wasn’t careful. Blaise raised his eyes to Seamus’ and the brown irises sparkled mischievously. 

“I don’t usually bottom,” Blaise said, bending low and kissing Seamus’ collarbone with a light flick of his tongue. “But I’ll give it a run again if you want to top this time.”

“Perish the thought, dear boy,” Seamus said breathlessly, because he figured the greatest number of people possible should know what they were doing in this situation. And 1 was more than 0.

“Ooh, and he’s versatile,” Blaise murmured, an appreciative grin on his face. “Secret number one.”

Seamus laughed. Seamus’ stomach, on the other hand, churned.

It occurred to him that in about ten minutes, he was no longer going to be a virgin. No more wondering. No more wistful wanks at the crack of dawn. No more pondering that dreamy smile on Ron’s face when Hermione whispered in his ear over breakfast. He was going to have been entered. _Entered_. By another boy. For how not-that-big of a deal it was, the idea was certainly making him nervous. 

Blaise ran his fingers up over Seamus’ ribs, and Seamus forgot for a second and laughed. Blaise always had that effect on him. The boy was skilled, and he’d found Seamus’ ticklish spot.

“You okay?” Blaise said, a soft smile on his lips. Seamus grinned and wiped his eyes.

“Just a little ticklish.”

“Never heard about that one.” Blaise leered. “Is that one of your secrets, too?”

“Well, it’s not a secret anymore, is it?”

Blaise was the one who laughed this time, and he rolled so Seamus was on top of him. It was a bit much all at once: hot boy underneath him, glowing amusement in brown eyes, and not a lick of clothing between their chests. Seamus gasped. Thank god for trousers, he found himself thinking. 

But soon those would be gone, too.

“I don’t think you honestly have any idea how curious I am,” Blaise murmured. His hands had found their way to Seamus’ backside, and Merlin, but that felt good. The Slytherin closed his eyes and nuzzled Seamus’ cheek with his nose. “Damn near beside myself, actually.”

“Oh,” Seamus said eloquently. Well, it was pretty creative for not expecting to be able to speak at all, wasn’t it? Blaise grinned.

“All those nights. You drove me crazy. But I know it was worth the wait.”

Seamus fidgeted. “Well. Can’t… Can’t be too hasty, now can I?”

Blaise switched their positions again before Seamus could properly acknowledge the feral look in his eye. And the snogging then… Lipstonguetonguesweat—did we mention _tongue_ —ohgodsWhyohwhy had Seamus not found Blaise earlier?tonguehandshands

Trousers.

Coming.

Off.

Seamus breathed and swallowed hard, and Blaise halted the attention to his neck and glanced up with an odd look in his eyes. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Oh… yes, of course I’m sure. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m always sure.”

And that seemed to do the trick because Blaise went back to what he’d been doing, and then it was rather blurry until Blaise sat up and reached for his wand, and Seamus realized that the Slytherin was veryverynaked. 

Seamus’ body tried to drown itself at the sight. And then it tried to end things pretty damn quickly. It was mere luck that Seamus managed to keep himself under control.

Blaise smirked and followed Seamus’ gaze down his own torso. “Like what you see?”

Seamus nodded shakily. “Oh… yes.”

Something flickered in those eyes. One of Blaise’s hands hesitated in its caress of Seamus’ chest. But only for an instant. The anticipatory smile that made Seamus’ knees wobbly was back a second later. “Which spell do you prefer?”

Seamus’ mind was so blank he could have written his thesis on Current Debates on the Uses of Ambiguous Magical Spells on it. “Spell?”

Blaise let out a puzzled laugh. “Yeah, spell. Shielding or preventative?”

For a moment, Seamus thought, this is it. This is where I transform back into my naïve, closet-wanking self. And then it clicked. “Oh! Oh, no. I have… um. A condom. In my pocket.”

Blaise’s grin widened. “You know, I’ve never used one. Could be interesting.”

“Yeah. Yeah, they… they are.”

The way Blaise’s hand hitched against his chest again told Seamus that his doppelganger definitely did not stutter during sex. His boyfriend’s smile had dropped the slightest bit. Seamus did the only thing he could think of, what Finnigan-the-Sexpot would have done, and tugged Blaise down to kiss him as hard as he could. The response he received told him that it had worked. Blaise’s body collapsed onto his and there was a tremor through the boy’s limbs. Seamus was actually beginning to enjoy himself again. Climbing back up the ladder on rungs so exquisite and mind-blowing that he didn’t have time to think of what was coming. It was all just silly melodrama anyway, virginity.

But he’d forgotten one small detail: his boyfriend was still a Slytherin. With. Slytherin. Fingers.

Seamus hissed and tensed. He’d never been touched _there_. Blaise glanced up and his eyes narrowed just a bit. 

“Seamus?”

“Kind of cold in here, yeah?” Seamus managed in a rush. Blaise arched an eyebrow. 

“Well, obviously I’m not doing my part then, am I?” he teased. But even Seamus could see the new awareness around his eyes. Blaise leaned closer. “Seamus, are you—”

“I’m fine!” he said. “Really. And I was just teasing. It’s plenty warm in here.” But he was eyeing other parts of Blaise’s body now. And from what he’d read, this next part was going to be tricky under the best of circumstances. His heart had started hammering somewhere back around the exodus of his trousers and he was suddenly very aware of Blaise’s hand splayed across his chest. He looked up, hoping he appeared nonchalant, and met his boyfriend’s gaze. It was calculating, searching. A lump rose in Seamus’ throat.

Time for a last ditch appeal to his doppelganger. After all, Seamus had let him run free long enough. Now it was time for him to repay the favor, wasn’t it? “Well, what are you waiting for?” he murmured, and was surprised by how successfully sultry his voice sounded. 

Blaise gave him a half-smile and leaned down. He looked for a moment as if he were about to say something, but instead kissed Seamus, mouth moving more slowly. His hand climbed down to Seamus’ nether regions and… and… it was no use. Seamus jumped before he could stop himself. Blaise pulled up lightning fast and stared hard into his eyes. For a long moment he searched his gaze. Then—

Blaise’s liquid brown eyes widened. He froze, holding himself taut above Seamus. His mouth dropped open a little bit and his voice came in a whisper. “No way…”

Seamus’ voice was gone. He could only stare back into Blaise’s eyes and swallow, and feel the heat pulsing through the palm on his chest, the thick beat of blood in his ears. 

Blaise’s eyes flicked over his face. “You’re a… aren’t you?” he whispered.

Seamus tried to shake his head. He really did. But it would have been too late anyway. Blaise pulled up straight, and Seamus realized belatedly that he had been clutching the other boy’s wrist. He let go as if the skin beneath his fingers had gone red-hot. Blaise slid off the bed and stepped away, facing the far wall. One hand climbed into his hair. The room was absolutely silent for a second. Then Blaise’s hand in his hair clenched and he whirled around.

“Were you planning on telling me?” he cried. His eyes were narrow, nostrils flared. Seamus could not remember Blaise looking this way, and realized with a start that he’d never seen Blaise Zabini angry before.

Before he could come up with some sort of answer, the Slytherin spun away and began to pace. Up, down, up again, and then he stopped, still not facing Seamus. Seamus’ stomach felt full of lead. 

Well. One month. It was a record, he was sure of it. Something big and much too full was ballooning in his chest. It was making it hard to breathe, and damn it, what was it doing to his eyes? Something in the vicinity of his stomach should not have any say over what went on in his eyes. He pulled himself up and grabbed his discarded clothes with shaking fingers. It was a good thing the Slytherin common room was empty. 

“I’ll just… go then,” he said dully. Seamus tugged his trousers up over his legs and aimed his steps toward the door. He could walk that far, surely. And then he could walk back to the dungeon hallway. And then, up the stairs. By the time he got to the third floor, maybe the other Seamus would have fallen into step beside him again. Fifth floor, they’d be walking in tandem. Portrait hole: they’d be on speaking terms. Dorm room? Well. By then they would be together again, cracking the same joke in the same voice, being equally sly about how well the sex had gone, and no one would be the wiser.

It took him a few tries to jerk the door open, and then footsteps, and another hand shot out and slammed the door shut before he could get through it. Seamus looked up and found Blaise there. The Slytherin’s face was unreadable. “Wait a minute.”

That lump was huge now, blocking up all Seamus’ words. He’d probably have to get Pomfrey to cut it out of him if he ever got out of this dungeon. He looked at the floor and saw Blaise’s bare toes curling against the stone.

“Why.” Blaise cleared his throat. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Seamus stared at the floor. It was a nice floor. Big gray stones. Yes. Very nice stones. With Blaise’s bare feet on them. Seamus screwed up his face and stared at those feet.

“What are you doing?”

Lo and behold, words. Nice of them to drop by. “Looking at your feet.”

Blaise’s feet shifted. “Why?”

“Not going to see them again, am I?”

“Oh, for—” A hand was suddenly gripping his arm, and there were fingers under his chin, and there was Blaise’s face when all Seamus really wanted to see was his left foot because he didn’t quite have the arch of the instep right in his mind. And now he couldn’t see it at all. Wasn’t that just the way?

Blaise’s eyes were troubled, his fingers pressing into Seamus’ skin. “Are you really…” He faltered, his mouth open but wordless. Seamus bit his lip to shut himself up, but he suspected his face was trying to get him into trouble because, from the way Blaise’s face contorted, he might as well have shouted his answer through a megaphone. 

“All those stories?” Blaise seemed to be having a difficult time deciding whether to look amazed or appalled. 

Seamus decided he liked this opportunity to memorize Blaise Zabini’s face instead. It would be a nice memory to go back to when the school calendar was updated tomorrow. Blaise Zabini—Before the Catastrophe versus Blaise Zabini—After the Catastrophe. And then Seamus could go crawl under the statue of the crumple-eared gargoyle and die.

He wrapped his fingers around the door handle again and pulled. Blaise’s eyes widened and he shoved the door shut again. “Finnigan, where are you going?”

“What did you _want_ me to do?” Seamus’s voice cracked at the end and he felt rather like a stupid first year again. Blaise’s fingers tightened on his bicep and for a moment the Slytherin didn’t speak. Then he sighed and tugged Seamus lightly. 

“Sit down.”

It made sense, Seamus thought. After all, Blaise was obviously still in shock. He could sit for a minute so he’d be ready to run when the Slytherin got angry again and kicked him out of his dorm room. He let the other boy lead him away from the door back to the bed and dropped down onto it, staring at the floor again. Blaise’s fingers lifted the shirt from Seamus’ hand and took it out of his line of sight. The Slytherin walked away from him, and Seamus heard him rustling with clothing, and then the sound of a zipper. A second later Blaise was back, sitting beside him. His chest was still bare, but he’d put his trousers back on. 

And there were those nice, shapely bare feet. 

Blaise’s thigh was warm against Seamus’s. They sat for a while, Seamus looking at the floor, Blaise staring at the ceiling, and Seamus thought that if they were still friends after this, they could do a nice description of the details of Blaise’s dorm room for one of Dean’s drawings. 

Blaise leaned in, pressing a line of warm skin against Seamus’ shoulder. “I could have hurt you, you know,” he said softly. Seamus looked up, startled, and found Blaise’s eyes fixed on his intently.

“What…” Seamus shook his head. “No. You’ve already done… it. I haven’t. It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. 

Blaise’s hand jerked his shoulder. His eyes were burning. “It _does_ matter, Seamus. It’s not something to just throw around!”

Seamus shrugged. “What’s the difference? Everyone’s already decided about me anyway. _You_ already decided.”

Blaise’s lips moved, but no sound came. He fingers came up and skated down Seamus’ cheek. Seamus shivered in spite of himself.

“I would have wanted to know,” was all Blaise said. Seamus bit his lip.

“You’re not… one.”

Blaise sighed. “No. No, I’m not.”

“Well, I’ll just be one for a little longer then,” Seamus said, and it was a little bit bitter. “Just, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about it tomorrow.”

Blaise looked at him. “I wasn’t planning on saying anything.”

“Oh?” Seamus said before he could stop himself.

Blaise frowned. “No. Why would I say anything to anyone about my boyfriend’s personal business?”

Seamus stared at him mutely, and Blaise looked right back. His hand rubbed up and down Seamus’ arm once. Seamus stared at it. It was a nice hand. 

“But… I… You won’t want…”

Blaise’s sigh sounded exasperated. “Seamus…” he groaned. He rubbed his face, then pulled his feet up and flopped down on his back across the bed, landing with his head on the pillow. “Lie down, would you?”

Seamus scooted backward until he was beside Blaise, and gingerly settled down. A warm arm came around his chest, and Blaise wiggled closer, tucking his head under Seamus’ chin. Seamus listened to Blaise’s quiet breathing and felt himself starting to relax.

“So, are any of those rumors true?” Blaise’s voice was low, sleepy. Seamus blinked and looked down at the dark mass of hair. It smelled quite lovely and it was so very curly.

“Well… I do know how to give a hell of a blow job,” Seamus offered, grinning weakly.

Blaise laughed and the tension seemed to blow right out of Seamus’ body. “Never could find a good one,” the Slytherin murmured. “I might just take you up on that later.”

Seamus smiled up into the dimness of the bed hangings. Blaise’s arm tightened around him and Seamus thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if one person knew about his secret alter-ego.

~fin~


End file.
